Suicide Poem by Areese Woodson
Suicide
An enigmatic painter coats a vast cerulean.
Perhaps a book -
Sheets sheathing words like cadaverous bodies,
Mirroring the dead sun's illusion.
Below...
He reminiscences on the malevolence filling his existence.
Pillaged as his mind,
Seizing the instrument he's come to gravely rely on.
His hand resembling a quivering eye -
Bullet and lip embrace like old friends,
And the shelf is wiped out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/16/2024 4:34:46 AM # 1.0.0.1119
